On Sunday, June 16, 1974, I was at the O'Keefe Centre in Toronto for the third night of David Bowie's Diamond Dogs tour. Nowadays theatrical presentations of rock and pop are nothing special. Peter Gabriel has been acting out his songs for years, Kate Bush did it in 1979 (and will probably do it again in August) and Madonna opened the floodgates for all manner of wannabes to present their music alongside dancers, props and everything bar the kitchen sink. It could be argued that Alice Cooper started it all but, compared to what David did on this tour, Alice was a Punch & Judy Show. David never repeated this kind of concert and, of course, it never reached the UK, though it was filmed for a seldom-seen documentary called Cracked Actor.
If my report below, slightly edited from the original, sounds a bit breathless, that’s because this kind of presentation was so new that I was pretty much overawed by it. Also, it being a Sunday night I had a write up my longish review very quickly, in longhand on hotel notepaper, then wait until about four in the morning to call London (9am UK time) and dictate it over the phone to a secretary. We’d progressed from carrier pigeons but e-mails were as remote as Bowie himself. It filled page three of that week’s MM as I recall. (I found the pic below on the internet, from the show I saw, photographer unknown.)
If my report below, slightly edited from the original, sounds a bit breathless, that’s because this kind of presentation was so new that I was pretty much overawed by it. Also, it being a Sunday night I had a write up my longish review very quickly, in longhand on hotel notepaper, then wait until about four in the morning to call London (9am UK time) and dictate it over the phone to a secretary. We’d progressed from carrier pigeons but e-mails were as remote as Bowie himself. It filled page three of that week’s MM as I recall. (I found the pic below on the internet, from the show I saw, photographer unknown.)
A FEW THOUSAND lucky Canadians witnessed a completely new concept in rock theatre last weekend when David Bowie opened his North American tour in Toronto on Sunday.
It now seems likely that Bowie WAS speaking the truth when he announced
his retirement from rock on the stage at the Hammersmith Odeon last year. For
the act that David presents on this tour has as much to do with rock and roll
as Bob Dylan has with the gloss of Las Vegas.
The one-and-a-half-hour, 20-song show
is a completely rehearsed and choreographed routine where every step and nuance
has been perfected down to the last detail. There isn't one iota of spontaneity
about the whole show. It is straight off a musical stage – a piece of theatre
complete with extravagant mechanical sets, dancers and a band that stands
reservedly to stage right and never even receives so much as a cursory
acknowledgement, like an orchestra in the theatre pits.
The show belongs on Broadway or
Shaftesbury Avenue rather than on the road. The whole concept takes a complete
turnaround from what a rock audience anticipates, but at Toronto on Sunday it
left them stunned. Perhaps the crowd at the O'Keefe Theatre literally couldn't
believe their eyes.
Fittingly there was no encore and the
applauding audience was greeted with the announcement 10 minutes after the show
stopped that Bowie had already left the theatre. The Colonel Parker touch is
forever there.
The music actually appears secondary to
the various effects and dance routines, and while it could be argued that Alice
Cooper has taken rock theatre to its extreme level, Bowie has moved onto a
totally different level. It was more in the vein of a Liza Minnelli
performance, or even a Vegas night club cabaret. A Christmas pantomime would be
an unfair parallel, but the ideas behind it were exactly the same.
Bowie comes out of this show as some
kind of magical being. A star above stars, as untouchable as the sky; not once
does he address the audience, or even allude to their presence other than an
odd grin.
Each song is linked together so that no
delays occur during the show, and he doesn't even take a bow at the end. The
material is a sensible mixture of songs from the Diamond Dogs album and assorted old favourites.
Bowie’s backing band – Earl Slick, an
American guitarist, Herbie Flowers on bass, Mike Garson from the old Spiders on
keyboard, and Tony Newman on drums – are first class, note perfect to an almost
mechanical degree. Their presence – as opposed to their music – is less
important than the stage setting and the various effects that evolve from
behind hidden doors.
The dancers, Warren Peace and Gui
Andrisan, sing backup vocals and shuffle props and mikes around the stage with
total precision. The stage set is taken from the disintegrating metropolis,
Hunger City, created from Bowie's imagination for the concept of his new album.
The rear of the stage is a 20 foot high
bridge constructed from span girders that form a catwalk which rises and falls
at Bowie's command. Three equally high lighting towers, cunningly disguised as
toppling skyscrapers, beam down on the star of the show. Illustrated at the
left of the stage, against one of these pillars, is some kind of phallic symbol
spurting blood towards the sky. The band are off to the right, towards the rear
of the stage.
Throughout the entire show Bowie goes
through a series of well-rehearsed dance steps and mimes to act out each song
in the persona of the character involved. The expanse of unoccupied stage in
the centre is ample for all manner of complex choreography involving chairs,
ropes and sundry other props.
The Toronto concert began
over half an hour late and, of course, there was no supporting act. For 45
minutes prior to Bowie's arrival on stage a tape of odd sounds and peculiar
jungle noises was heard through a PA system that was placed half way up the
hall instead of actually on the stage.
Eventually, after some slow
handclapping, the lights were dimmed for a roadie in blue dungarees (regulation
uniform for the whole road crew) to announce that Bowie was suffering from
laryngitis but would appear regardless.
The opening song was '1984'. Bowie was
dressed in a light grey suit with blue and white polka dot, collarless shirt,
and red braces. He retained the same outfit for the entire performance, apart
from occasionally removing his jacket. He appeared without any noticeable
make-up and gone was the spiky hair style of last year and the year before. In
its place was a neat parting; it left little doubt about the masculinity of the
performer.
It took a couple more numbers, 'Rebel
Rebel' and 'Moonage Daydream', before the significance of the show began to
sink in, with the audience realising they were witnessing something totally
different from a normal rock concert. The cheers grew louder, but few could
imagine the surprises in store.
For 'Sweet Thing' Bowie appeared on the
catwalk for the first time, dressed in a long trench coat and gazing down on
the dancers below as he sang and pouted. Yellowing lamp standards up on the
wall gave it an eerie but sad atmosphere. Eventually the whole huge bridge
machinery swung into operation rather like Tower Bridge allowing a steamer to
pass through, and Bowie was lowered between the two pillars to land safely back
on the ground.
The next song was 'Changes', with more
dance routine, then 'Suffragette City', 'All The Young Dudes' and 'Will You
Rock And Roll With Me', which seemed to close the first sequence of the
performance.
Houselights went up and for the first
time as Bowie bent to receive his applause. His rigid facial expression seemed
to reflect incredible self-confidence. He knew it was good so there was little
point in milking the applause. There was even a suggestion of arrogance – a
MainMan star, indeed.
'Watch That Man' began phase two of the
show, though the delay was actually less than most bands take between every
number. Next, for 'Drive In Saturday', David played acoustic guitar for the
first and only time in the show. Then came another major surprise: with the
opening chord of 'Space Oddity' thundering from Slick's guitar, Bowie appeared
to have left the arena, then a door atop one of the skyscrapers swung open to
reveal him in a seat on a pole – actually a hydraulic boom extending from the
base of the phallic symbol. He began the song perched up there, but as the
verses progressed and David took on the identity of Major Tom, the boom moved
forward and extended diagonally outwards so that he was projected somewhat
precariously out above the front rows of the audience. Complete with flashing
lights everywhere the effect was nothing short of sensational.
From then on the various effects came
thick and fast, and to grasp every detail one would have to watch at least
three shows. At one stage (during 'Diamond Dogs') David was tied up in ropes by
the dancers and at another he was in the centre of a boxing ring, wearing
boxing gloves to sing 'Panic In Detroit'. He even had a big black dude walk on
in a track suit to act as a second, towelling him down and fitting a fresh gum
shield between verses. But
even these effects paled compared to the Houdini-like routine during the last
half hour.
For this David appeared perched above a
platform of mirrors, wheeled on from the rear. The platform turned out to be a
gigantic square box rather like some conjurer's lavish prop, into which Bowie
descended and disappeared from view. The front doors of the box were then
opened by his dancers but... no David. Just a gigantic sparkling, black hand
against ultraviolet strip lights.
Eventually
the hand lowered to reveal a glittering staircase for Bowie to take the stage
once more.
For the final medley of 'Jean Genie'
and 'Rock And Roll Suicide', a tiny but powerful spot at the base of the stage
was switched on to create giant shadows of David and his dancers looming over
the painted metropolis on the back drop – another eerie but brilliantly
choreographed set piece.
The show was over before you knew it.
Suddenly the audience were yelling for more at a stage which had emptied in
seconds. The applause lasted some ten minutes before the announcement that
David had left the theatre.
It was the most original spectacle in
"rock" I've ever seen, a complete move forward in direction for both
Bowie and pop in general. The star comes out of it as an all-round
actor/singer/ dancer/entertainer, leaving behind his status as a simple
singer/songwriter. Equally worthy of praise are set designer Jules Fisher and
choreographer Toni Basil.
Their attention to detail was almost
frightening. During 'Space Oddity' for example, David sang into a telephone
receiver rather than a regular microphone, and in 'Cracked Actor'
Hollywood-type movie cameras and spots were hastily set up around the singer
while a make-up man arrived to splash on face powder. The
only unrehearsed item appeared to be when a dancer collided with Tony Newman's
cymbals. Two roadies were there in a flash to set matters right.
Quite how much the setting, machinery
and rehearsals must have cost in man hours and money is anyone's guess but it
seemed doubtful that Bowie will be signing a bill much less than £50,000 for
the project and this may go some way towards explaining the unusually high
ticket price.
Here in Toronto the top price was eight
dollars and 80 cents (about £4) while in New York at Madison Square Garden next
month the top is 10 dollars and 50 cents, abnormally high by rock standards and
setting a new precedent in pricing.
But David Bowie 1974 is not constricted
by rock any more. He looks further ahead than any in rock; his far-reaching
imagination has created a combination of contemporary music and theatre that is
several years ahead of its time.
It could be argued That Screaming Lord Sutch started it all.... But then again he probably nicked it from Jay Hawkins.
ReplyDeleteI probably read this review "back in the day", sat in a cramped, dark Liverpool bedsitter, post art college daydreams, pre professional responsibilities. At that time whole albums would be previewed on the radio (Alan Freeman?), so everyone held tiny microphones from portable cassette recorders to the speaker and sat in absolute still silence for the duration. In that way I played a rough cassette constantly of Diamond Dogs til the album was released. It became my favourite Bowie.
When David Live was released I liked that even more. At first it was weird to take, having seen the Aladdin Sane tour. But the reworked back catalogue sat well alongside the new album tracks, and it was only through articles like yours we ever got to imagine what the whole presentation would have been like.
I wonder how much footage apart from Cracked Actor exists that we’ve never seen. In those days many cameras were only able to shoot very short sequences.
Thanks for posting, Then and Now.
Thanks Ian. I take your point about Lord Sutch, and Hawkins. I reviewed Diamond Dogs for MM but such was the preciousness surrounding Bowie that I was summoned to Mainman's offices in NY to listen to it (once) and not even allowed to take notes, let alone tape it. The sole reason for this attitude was to create the impression that DB was somehow in a league of his own. The upshot was that the review was a bit patchy, incomplete, as I recall. I though he was surrounded by idiots. Loved DD all the same though.
ReplyDeleteHey Chris, Jaffo here
ReplyDeleteI remember a lad at school bringing that article in and us all poring over it in the playground because, if memory serves, that was the first time any of us had seen pictures of the 'new look' (ie non-Ziggy looking) Bowie. Great to read that again. All the best